


Ammo Girl

by thebeastinsideusall



Series: Supernatural [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Tumblr, Tumblr Prompt, ammo, dean saves you with words, hes a hunk, saved you from the apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 07:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14100429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebeastinsideusall/pseuds/thebeastinsideusall
Summary: Prompt - Dean comes into an ammo store and tells you the truth about the end of the world because he likes you





	Ammo Girl

Prompt - Being a cashier at an ammo store and jokingly asking when the apocalypse was and Dean telling you the truth because he likes you

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Neon open sign outside flickering, a cool breeze pushing back the weathered wooden sign sat out front. An unseasonably cool summer night, clouds gathering darkly in the distance, a storm approaching. Lightning crashes and thunder rolls far away in the distance. You hated working the night shift. The store rarely saw customers that were any good after four pm and you were always working by yourself on these nights. That's why there's a pistol in a holster, strapped to your ribs and within easy reach. You want the customers to see it, make no mistake that you're an easy target or try to rob the place. So far it has kept you safe and alive, though you still feel gross and greasy when weirdos come in and purchase anything. 

It's well past midnight, you're bored, having restocked all the shelves, swept the floor and even dusted most of the guns in the glass cases and the ones on the racks behind the counter. A cheesy western novel in your hands as you slump in the tall stool behind the register. The door chimes and you glance up, taking a double look as a very handsome man with bright green eyes and chestnut hair ruffled on his head walks in. Bow legged walk strutting inside and coming straight up to the counter, towering over your frame sat in the stool and you sit up straight. 

"Can I help you?" He smiles, takes a glance at you before his eyes roam the shelves and cases around you both. 

"Yeah, need empty twelve gauge, twenty two, sixteen and twenty gauge." He glances behind the counter. "Those three shotguns behind you, two or three nine mills. Ammo for all of them." You sit for a moment before phasing back into yourself and nodding, it's not the most outlandish request.

"You got it hon." Hoping off the stool you grip the belt loops at your hips and tug a second, making sure your jeans won't slip down your thick thighs as you couch down and unlock the guns from the rack, gently placing them on the glass counter top. The man eyes the piece at your ribs but otherwise ignores you, instead testing the sights on the shotguns as you walk down the counter and unlock the cabinet with the empty shells. You don't sell very many of them so it's fully stocked. 

You pause and turn back to him, finding his gaze trained perfectly on your ass. You clear your throat and he looks up, not even sheepish about it and he smirks at you. "How many cases you need of the shells?" He walks down the counter to stand opposite you and looks to your side inside the cabinet. 

"Gimme all you got." You raise an eyebrow a him but he seems completely serious, so you just shrug at him and start emptying out the cabinet, there's easily a few thousand rounds already on the counter. You keep piling them until the shelves are empty. 

"Do you need shot too? Gunpowder?" You ask, they're things he needs of he's making his own bullets. 

"Yup, same thing, gimme all you got." Shaking your head you go to the next cabinet down and unlock it, hefting up the heavy boxes filled with sealed bags of gunpowder, the next unlocked and then the boxes of loose shot as well. You wonder if the glass counter will break under the weight, they're a little old. 

This time when you turn around he's right there, on the other side of the counter. Leaning to tower over you again and smirking down at you, eyes reading over the emblam of the store stretched over your chest on the t-shirt that your boss insisted you wear a size too small. It rides up constantly, revealing the skin over your hips above your jeans and belt. You don't mind most times, it gives the older men that come in something to look at and those days your tip jar was pretty full. 

"Got any armor piercing rounds, sweetheart?" He raises an eyebrow and you bite your lip for a second, lost in his green eyes before you get it together and nod at him. 

"Yeah, but not very many. Can't get any right now because of the new legislations." You roll your eyes when he grunts and whispers about governments being idiotic, you loudly agree with him. 

"Gimme those too." With everything piled onto the counter you tally it up on the register, laughing softly when you tell him the amount but he only nods and pulls out a credit card, not even looking at the registers blinking digital lights. It's a lot of fucking money, like into the thousands. 

"So when's the apocalypse?" You joke, but instead the guy leans forward, elbow on the counter as he leans closer to you. His eyes darken for a moment and you're drawn to them, mesmerized by the candy apple color looking right into you.

"I like you sweetheart." He starts and you narrow you're gaze, wondering if this handsome guy was instead one of those creepers that came in late at night, muttering about the end of the world. The kind of guy that had a bunker and a stash of ammo to last years, maybe decades. "I know you don't trust me, but I'd like to keep a pretty girl from dyin'." Now you took a slow step back from the counter and he straightened some, seeing the apprehension heavy in your gaze. 

"Take whatever you can tonight. Every gun, box of rounds, everything. Shove it in your car and you run, some thing is coming and by morning this town's gonna be gone and so will hundreds of people." The darkness in his eyes didn't waver, and the way his voice sounded pleading instead fo reaching. It hit a chord inside you and you froze, eyes wide as the wind picked up outside and the lights flickered once before calming once more. 

He starts lugging all the boxes and crates to a sleek classic car sat on the curb out front. The wind whipping the ends of his leather jacket against his hips and ruffled his already tangled short hair. When he's done he comes back inside and opens his wallet, hands you a stack of crumbled bills instead of putting them into the tip jar. "You don't gotta believe me, I'm just trying to help." And he's gone, the rev of the engine fading into the distance as the sounds of a fast approaching storm sound over the concrete walls and tin roof of the shop. 

You look at the wad of cash in your hand and then towards the small television mounted on the wall in the corner. The subtitles reading that a freak storm front is on the move. Tornadoes and hurricanes popping out of nowhere and you tense, seeing flaming buildings on the screen and people already looting in the bigger cities. 

"Fuck..." For once in your life you take the advice of a total stranger. Your small truck is loaded, the camper shell on the back opened and your flinging padded gun cases filled with shotguns and rifles into the back as gently as you can in your hurry, every box of ammo is off the shelf and shoved as neatly as you could into the back of your truck and your thankful you got those windows tinted awhile back. 

Fear drips coldy down your spine when the rain starts, a soft pitter patter that's just the beggining. By the time you unload the last box of shells and hunting gear into the back, you see the flash of something dark far off in the distance but so large it scares you to death. You leave the front door unlocked but it doesn't matter, by morning that street is leveled along with half the small city you lived and worked in. All you can think about now is surviving and maybe run into the man that saved your life. 

In the wake of zombies, werewolves and vampires. Demons were real and you learned as you went. Monsters die under your hand and the ones that survive or run call you the Gunslinger. It's not until you start hearing whispers of Winchesters, and finally meet them face to face, do you realize who Dean Winchester is. Shock on your faces as guns are lowered. You wouldn't miss those eyes anywhere. 

"Apocalypse dude..." You holster your gun. 

"Ammo girl." He grins and slips his pistol back into the back of his jeans. 


End file.
